


Thief of Hearts

by T0XIC_P0IS0N



Series: Struck by a (Not So) Smooth Criminal [3]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Betrayal, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt, Eventual Smut, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Rating May Change, Thieves Guild, Thieves Guild Questline (Elder Scrolls)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:02:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29966079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/T0XIC_P0IS0N/pseuds/T0XIC_P0IS0N
Summary: Follow the story of a young and confused, on the run Dunmer who merely joins the Thieves Guild in Skyrim for three reasons; to become a professional, protection from the Cyrodilic government, and to track down his brother’s murderer. Unfortunately, he signed up for more than he bargained for, and it will only end in tears.(A retelling of Skyrim’s Thieves Guild questline through the eyes of my LDB, Raven.)
Relationships: Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Mercer Frey
Series: Struck by a (Not So) Smooth Criminal [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1783939
Kudos: 2





	Thief of Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> I didn’t intend on posting this today, but I suppose fate had other plans. This was something I had planned for a few months, and now it’s finally happening! Welcome to chapter 1 of my Thieves Guild retelling through the eyes of my OC.
> 
> Before you continue with the chapter, I just wanted to clarify a few things. This story will contain heavy angst and past traumatic experiences. When these happen, I’ll be sure to implement a content warning before the chapter (such is the case with this chapter.) My character goes through great hardships (both past and future) and unfortunately uses unhealthy coping mechanisms that will improve both throughout this story and future stories as well. 
> 
> Keep it in mind that I do not condone, romanticize, or fetishize alcoholism. I understand that it is a real disease and it’s not a joke. I would not have put this onto my character if I didn’t have some sort of personal experience with it. Please try to be considerate.
> 
> Allow me to address the tags next. First, let’s start with the “Eventual Smut” one. Yes there will be sexual content throughout this story, and no it will not be a one chapter event. After the romance kicks in, it will happen throughout the story. I will of course give warnings in the chapter notes like how I do with other content warnings. As for the “Rating May Change” tag, yes the rating of this story will change, I can guarantee that. I’ve marked it as mature for now just in case, so don’t be alarmed if the rating changes from Mature to Explicit.
> 
> If you become triggered with any of the topics listed here, click out now. I’ve done all I can to warn you, and from here on, I’m not responsible for your continued reading. It’s not my job to babysit people on the internet. You’re responsible for your own actions. 
> 
> For those of you who’ve decided to stay, welcome! I hope you enjoy. Buckle up, everyone, and enjoy the ride.
> 
> **Content warnings: excessive use of alcohol, mentions of non-con and abuse.**

_5th of Midyear, 4E201_

If there was one province Raven utterly despised, it was Cyrodiil. 

He thought he could start anew, move on and heal in that godsforsaken country, but the gods loved him _so much_ they collectively decided to spit in his face and destroy his efforts. He was doing quite well at first, becoming a successful pickpocket. What else could he do? Operating in the shadows was all Raven was good at. The elf became known as the “Cyrodilic Night Stalker,” quite the badass name in his opinion. 

It was all going well until someone decided to attack him.

Raven wasn’t sure what came of him after the attack. All he knew was waking up in a well-furnished bed, his wounds patched up. That’s when he met the owner of the bed and apparent mansion he dwelled in, a wealthy female scholar, Kassandra. She plucked him off the streets, taught him how to write and read properly, gave him clothes, food, a roof over his head, a bed to sleep in… 

Most importantly, she became the first motherly figure in his life. Kassandra gave the elf peace, made him feel loved and wanted, offered him advice. Raven wasn’t a fan of women, if anything he considered himself afraid of them. Being abused and mistreated by feminine figures would do that to someone. But the more time he spent with Kassandra, the more he felt himself heal. Just his luck, something bad just _had_ to happen.

The mansion was burned down one night. The two of them managed to make it out, but once outside, people were waiting. That’s when Kassandra told him to run, and like the coward he was, he obeyed. He turned around just in time to watch this woman, the first and only gentle, loving, _motherly_ woman in his life, be struck down like an _animal._

Raven’s goal afterward was to make it back to Skyrim somehow, but he didn’t make it far. He was arrested and brought to the Imperial City, accused of crimes he most certainly did _not_ commit. His crimes? The murder of Kassandra and her servents, and the burning of her mansion. The trial wasn’t near fair, his name slandered and falsified information slapped all over the city for all to see. They never gave Raven the chance to defend himself. He didn’t make it better for himself, either; one week later in that wretched place, he killed a guard in self-defense. The elf tore out his trachea, a justifiable act for non-consensual touching.

This action was the catalyst for the final verdict.. He was sentenced to death by chopping block.

When exposed to the threat of death, for the first time, Raven didn’t want to die. Not yet, not when there was so much for him to do. He schemed and planned for a whole day before he made his daring escape, retrieving his dagger and bag in the process. Clinging to the shadows, he fled from the Imperial City, and he didn’t stop until he reached Cheydinhal. Once the dunmer arrived it became very apparent he lacked the chance to relax. Wanted posters clung to the stone walls, Raven’s face plastered for every Cyrodilian eye to see. 

For nearly two weeks, Raven lacked a decent night rest. He was _exhausted_. He didn’t know how he managed to survive, to slip across the border unseen. He landed in the Rift immediately, traveling to the hold capital, Riften. The elf made sure to stay off main roads out of fear someone from the Cyrodilic government would track him down and bring him back to that wretched country. Skirting past main roads and various water sources, Raven found himself looking at the familiar walls of Riften. After six years, the place hadn’t changed much. 

There was, however, something fishy about this city, and no, it wasn’t due to the fishery. Upfront, Raven was expected to pay a “visitor’s tax,” which he knew was a scam. Feeling his patience waning, he called the guard out on it, and his hunch was correct. _Well, that part hasn’t changed._ Upon entering the city, he boldly ignored the voice of a gruff nord character and headed straight for the tavern. Godsdamn did he need a few drinks. Thus brought us to the present scene. 

The tavern flooded with patrons, distinct voices and laughter filling Raven’s sensitive ears. He greedily chugged his Firebrand wine, slamming the tankard down. As he opened his coin purse to drag out more septims, the argonian, Talen-Jei was his name, sighed. 

“Perhaps you should eat something first?” He suggested.

“I lack the appetite and the stomach for food.” Raven refuted, slamming the septims on the table. “Until I regain it, I intend to drink until I am forced to stop. Would you be so kind as to pour me another glass?”

Talen-Jei just sighed before grabbing another bottle of Firebrand wine, pouring it into the cup. He was aware of how unhealthy this is, drinking to feel numb, to feel nothing at all. It's not like he had anyone to confide in. He had no one, he was completely and utterly alone. 

_Brother would be so disappointed in me._

Raven glared at the tankard, taking a small sip before setting it back down. Suddenly, drinking didn’t sound too pleasant. Rubbing his eyes, the elf sighed. He was _not_ supposed to turn out like this. He wasn’t supposed to be like father, that selfish, good for nothing bastard—

“Running a little light in the pockets, lad?”

Raven’s thoughts ceased. He furrowed his brows, retracting his hand from his eyes and looking next to him. A man, a nord by the looks, was standing next to him. His hair was red, not very common in nords, however those blue eyes were distinctly _nordic._ They continued to stare at each other, Raven’s expression confused as the other man looked at him expectantly. 

Neither of them uttered a word, until Raven snorted. 

“What, are you trying to hire me for something?” He asked. “Hate to break it to you, but I’m not a mercenary. And if you couldn’t tell, I’m busy drinking.” The elf took another sip of his wine. 

The redhead chuckled. “You’re half-right. Yes, I’m looking for an extra pair of hands, but not for the work you’re thinking of.”

“Besides,” Raven continued, as if the man hadn’t said anything. “How is my wealth any of your business?”

“Wealth _is_ my business.” He argued. “You see, it’s all about sizing up your mark, lad. The way they walk, what they’re wearing. It’s a dead giveaway. Like that scheme you sniffed out at the gate.”

“So I have you to thank for that.” Raven smirked. “Quite tactless. Even a fool could sniff out such boorish greed.” 

The man chuckled again before sitting down in front of Raven. “I knew by looking at you you’d be perfect for this job. And judging by how you speak, I think you’re quite the prize.”

_You say that now,_ Raven thought. “What do you call yourself?” He asked

“Brynjolf.” He revealed. “And you?” 

“Raven.”

“Well, Raven,” Brynjolf began. “Are you in or not?”

_Could be a trap,_ Raven argued. _How do I know he’s not a bounty hunter from Cyrodiil? I don’t. He could corner me, turn me over to their government, collect his reward, and all of this would be for nothing…_

Fuck it. He has nothing else to lose. 

“Surely I’ll be paid for this, yes?” Raven asked. 

“Of course.” 

Raven leaned forward. “What do I need to do?” 

“Meet me tomorrow at the market, eight AM. As I’ve said, I need an extra pair of hands for an errand, but it can only happen at tomorrow’s market.” Brynjolf said. 

“You’re just going to leave me with that?” Raven raised a brow. 

“If you’re curious, you’ll stick around and meet me tomorrow.” Brynjolf stood from his chair, grinning. “Remember, eight AM.” And with that, he walked away.

Raven sat there, pausing. If he bought into this, it could end in two ways: certain death from the Cyrodilic government, or gold. Brynjolf’s observation was correct, Raven was running light in the pockets— well, it was his own fault. Buying alcohol excessively would deplete your coin. It wouldn’t hurt to have some coin for the road, until he could find a job…

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Raven sighed. He took a sip of wine again before grinning. “But satisfaction brought him back.”

  
  
  


Raven didn’t find rest that night. He attempted to sleep in Beggar's Row, on the ground and at the farthest corner, away from the beggars dwelling there. It was cold and damp, and every sound frightened him. The elf didn’t know the difference between a water droplet and a footstep, if someone was coming for him. Raven tossed and turned all night, staring at walls and the ceiling. Eventually, he grew frustrated and restless. Tying back his white as snow locks, he walked around Riften.

He felt like shit, if he were brutally honest. He didn’t know how early it was, but it was before the market opened. The dunmer was impatient, he wanted to see Brynjolf now and attempt to satisfy his impatience. 

Walking around the city, Raven took in the scents from the city and her people. Riften smelled of fish and water, a pleasant aroma of honey from a not-so pleasant family. Being a local from Skyrim, he knew of them and what they did. He knew how corrupt they were, and the elf also knew Maven Blackbriar was the head matriarch. She practically owned the entire city and its people, the selfish bitch. If she didn’t overprice that swill she called mead, maybe Raven would like her a little. 

Supposedly, the Thieves Guild was still struggling. When he was a child, Raven vaguely remembered their glory days, their name whispered in hushed yet frantic tones. Then they became laughingstocks of every city. Not that he paid attention, at that time he had more important things to worry about, and a faction he wasn’t even involved in was not one of them. It was quite a shame to hear of their continued struggle. Raven desired to join, but if they were doing so poorly, it probably wasn’t worth it.

Raven decided to walk around Riften some more. He observed his surroundings, reacquainting himself with the city. It’d been six years, not much has changed. A new building or two perhaps, definitely new people. The vibe hadn’t changed, still sketchy and as shady as ever. 

Apparently, a full-scale civil war wrecked the entire country. Raven hadn’t gathered much, just some rebellion all over worshiping a false god. _Talos._ The name itself produced a bitter taste on his tongue. People were opinionated and he understood that, however his opinion stood. He would say it to anyone’s face and wouldn’t give a damn. 

Eventually, Raven found himself at the marketplace. Stalls had opened, people mingled and browsed wares. It’s not that Raven needed anything or had the money, but looking was rather fun. The elf checked the marketplace once, twice, _three times_ and still no sign of Brynjolf. 

Did he just _imagine_ him? Had he gone insane and conjured him up? Eyebrow twitching, Raven pondered leaving Riften and hitting up Windhelm, until…

“You’re early, lad.”

Whirring around, Raven came face to face with the man from yesterday. For a fraction of a second, his wine red eyes widened, heart pounding until calming himself. Brynjolf grinned at him, as if impressed. 

“What do I have to do?” The elf asked. Curiosity was killing him. 

Brynjolf’s grin widened. “Straight to the point, eh? It’s rather simple; I’m going to cause a distraction, and you’re going to steal Madesi's silver ring from a strongbox under his stand. Once you have it, I want you to place it in Brand-Shei's pocket without him noticing."

Raven’s eyes widened, and this time, for longer than a millisecond. Stealing and breaking the law in this fashion could only mean one thing: Brynjolf represented the Thieves Guild. Just as quickly as shock flooded his body, a new sense of purpose filled his core. This could be his time to shine, to show the world what he was made of. To return to a particular expertise that stuck with him for years.

Raven’s silence made Brynjolf frown. “Sorry, I usually have a nose for this kind of thing. Never mind then, lad. If you—“

“I’ll do it.”

It was Brynjolf’s turn to look surprised. The nord knew that spark in Raven’s eyes, the burning passion to perform anarchist tasks. It was… refreshing. The redhead hadn’t seen something quite like that in ages, no matter who he tried to recruit. 

Then, Brynjolf grinned. “Great! I presume you’re ready now?”

“I was _born_ ready.” Raven returned his grin. “Just allow me to get into position and begin your distraction.” 

With that, they temporarily parted ways. Brynjolf went to his stand and picked up one of his elixirs, watching Raven push his back against a stone wall close by. The elf crossed his arms over his chest, oozing confidence as if he’d done this kind of thing before. The nord stared, grinned one last time before beginning his distraction. 

“Everyone! Everyone! Gather 'round! I have something amazing to show you that demands your attention!” 

Out of the corner of his red eyes, Raven watched the vendors mistakenly leave their stalls. Once they were all accounted for, the elf pounced. Crouching and pressing himself against the stone wall, Raven pulled out a lockpick and began to break into Madesi's stand and strongbox, without breaking a pick. As well as the ring, he pocketed some coin as an added bonus. Swiftly and silently, Raven made his way to where Brand-Shei sat.

The ring was easily placed without a hitch. Slinking away, Raven eventually popped up and walked around as if nothing occurred. Brynjolf’s distraction ended and the crowd dispersed, the dark elf played it cool. Instead of going to Brynjolf, Brynjolf came to him. 

“Looks like I chose the right person for the job.” Brynjolf grinned, placing a bag of coin in Raven’s open palm. “And here you go. Your payment, just as I promised.” 

Raven smiled at the coin purse, placing it in his bag. He would have to count it later. 

“The way things have been going around here, it's a relief that our plan went off without a hitch."

Raven turned to look at Brynjolf. “Is the Thieves Guild struggling _that_ bad?” He asked. How could a once magnificent guild fall from glory so quick, and _continue_ to struggle twenty-five years later? That didn’t sound right.

Brynjolf scoffed. “Bah. We’re just having a run of bad luck, but I suppose that's just how it goes. But never mind that, you did the job and you did it well.” Then he grinned. “Best of all, there's more where that came from... if you think you can handle it."

“Can’t argue with money.” Raven remarked. “If you continue to reward me properly, count me in. I’ll join your guild.” 

Raven could count three reasons for his decision. One, becoming a thief is all he’d ever been good at. Growing up on the streets to fend for yourself would force one to make such drastic measures. Over the years, he’d gotten pretty good at it. Why would he pass up the opportunity to become a professional? Raven knew he could learn a thing or two from Brynjolf or whoever they had down there. 

Two, if the guild knew something other than thievery, it was loyalty. That still hasn’t changed, he gathered. The guild looked after its members, and that would include Raven. If the Cyrodilic government was so hellbent on his execution and followed him to Skyrim, the guild would back him up. Raven would definitely need to earn their trust by proving he was serious about this decision, but that was doable. 

And three, he needed to track someone down, maybe even a group of people. They needed to pay for murder. Justice needed to be served.

Brynjolf grinned at him. “The guild made its home in the Ratway beneath Riften, a tavern called the Ragged Flagon. Get there in one piece and we'll see if you've really got what it takes."

Raven returned his grin. “I intend to.”


End file.
